Sherrill and I visited together more than 60 countries and most of the United States during our 52 years of marriage. This is number 23 of a series about our lives and travels. If you scroll down, you'll come to earlier posts in this series. To start at the beginning of our marriage look at the Archives list in the sidebar and start with May, 2017. Older posts you'll find below that are a previous series about much later travels.
Dinner with friends People asked us why we traveled so much.
"We haven't really started yet," we sometimes replied with a shrug and a smile. The more we traveled, the more we wanted to do it. I sometimes wonder if we were trying to catch up with ourselves—past and future, too. Motion isn't only through space, after all, but through time, as well: our time and the times we live in, the past but also the future, as it becomes present and past. As we traveled, it blurred together. And, sometimes, even just a day with friends could feel like a trip to another place and time, leaving us rich with memories.
"We haven't really started yet," we sometimes replied with a shrug and a smile. The more we traveled, the more we wanted to do it. I sometimes wonder if we were trying to catch up with ourselves—past and future, too. Motion isn't only through space, after all, but through time, as well: our time and the times we live in, the past but also the future, as it becomes present and past. As we traveled, it blurred together. And, sometimes, even just a day with friends could feel like a trip to another place and time, leaving us rich with memories.
In 1984, our Thanksgiving holiday took us into a world that was of the imagination as much as geography. Part of this trip was a journey into the mind and art of Jose' Clemente Orozco, perhaps the greatest of the Mexican muralists, certainly the one whose work spoke to Sherrill and me the most. Guadalajara is one of the most beautiful cities in Mexico, maybe the world, and among the lush gardens and colonial architecture the riches of Orozco's genius waited for us to savor.
One reason Sherrill and I were drawn to the Mexican muralists, I suspect, was because they didn't compromise. Their art hurled truth as they saw it right in our faces. The past, we learned early in our travels, is more than a colorful theme park—and nowhere is that more evident than in Orozco's murals. In building after building, we found walls and ceilings covered with his fiery paintings of human suffering and the struggle to escape it—and along the way, we also were immersed in the beauty of Guadalajara.
One reason Sherrill and I were drawn to the Mexican muralists, I suspect, was because they didn't compromise. Their art hurled truth as they saw it right in our faces. The past, we learned early in our travels, is more than a colorful theme park—and nowhere is that more evident than in Orozco's murals. In building after building, we found walls and ceilings covered with his fiery paintings of human suffering and the struggle to escape it—and along the way, we also were immersed in the beauty of Guadalajara.
 Simone in Guadalajara |  Revolution: Jose' Clemente Orozco |
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The next year, the three of us returned to England—and to Stonehenge, since Simone had little memory of walking among the giant stones when she was three. While we were in the area, we stopped at the broken monoliths of Avebury Circle, some Neolithic burial mounds, and recently excavated remains of ancient Roman villas—mostly mosaic floors and outlines of walls, but evocative of past times and lives, nevertheless. We also discovered some medieval stone farm buildings in remarkably perfect condition. We almost could smell the farm animals and the sweat of long ago farm hands.
Driving through the fertile green hills and farms of the Cotswolds, we were tempted to stop and use all of our film (people still used film then) on one picture-perfect country scene after another. The golden stone buildings of Castle Combe and the other Cotswold villages seemed to glow as if lit from inside when sunlight hit them. On the outskirts of one village, we stopped to watch men re-thatch a cottage roof, doing it as their ancestors would have five hundred years before.
The next year, the three of us returned to England—and to Stonehenge, since Simone had little memory of walking among the giant stones when she was three. While we were in the area, we stopped at the broken monoliths of Avebury Circle, some Neolithic burial mounds, and recently excavated remains of ancient Roman villas—mostly mosaic floors and outlines of walls, but evocative of past times and lives, nevertheless. We also discovered some medieval stone farm buildings in remarkably perfect condition. We almost could smell the farm animals and the sweat of long ago farm hands.
Driving through the fertile green hills and farms of the Cotswolds, we were tempted to stop and use all of our film (people still used film then) on one picture-perfect country scene after another. The golden stone buildings of Castle Combe and the other Cotswold villages seemed to glow as if lit from inside when sunlight hit them. On the outskirts of one village, we stopped to watch men re-thatch a cottage roof, doing it as their ancestors would have five hundred years before.
 Simone & Sherrill, Castle Combe |  Sherrill & Simone, Medieval Long Barn |
Sherrill & Simone in Bath On the road below the gothic magnificence of Arundel castle, we discovered in a gray stone Victorian house a museum, a warren of dusty rooms filled with glass cases, each displaying a diorama: quaint scenes of a genteel ladies' tea party, men carousing in a pub, a wedding, a band playing, a school room, a duel. All of the characters in these scenes were stuffed animals, kittens, guinea pigs, rabbits, squirrels, puppies, and other small, once living creatures, the work of self-taught Victorian taxidermist Walter Potter, who began creating them when still an adolescent. On occasion, he varied the scenes by grafting body parts from one animal onto a different species.
As we traveled over the years we saw how people everywhere work to create something that will last after they're gone. The men thatching that roof could point to it later—as their children and grandkids would be able to in the future. A thatched roof can last fifty or more years. The carpenters and stonemasons who built the manor houses, churches, and castles were leaving part of themselves behind. Why did Walter Potter devote his life to stuffing those tiny animals and arranging them as he did? Why did Orozco hurl himself into the backbreaking effort of covering walls and ceilings with his vision of life and death?
Similarly, I also remember the times when adults, even into middle age, came up to Sherrill in stores and on the street and in libraries to introduce themselves.
"Mrs. Reeves? You don't remember me, but my mother brought me to your preschool story hours. I loved those times. Because of you, I learned to love books. Thank you."
The words varied, but the message was always the same.
As we traveled over the years we saw how people everywhere work to create something that will last after they're gone. The men thatching that roof could point to it later—as their children and grandkids would be able to in the future. A thatched roof can last fifty or more years. The carpenters and stonemasons who built the manor houses, churches, and castles were leaving part of themselves behind. Why did Walter Potter devote his life to stuffing those tiny animals and arranging them as he did? Why did Orozco hurl himself into the backbreaking effort of covering walls and ceilings with his vision of life and death?
Similarly, I also remember the times when adults, even into middle age, came up to Sherrill in stores and on the street and in libraries to introduce themselves.
"Mrs. Reeves? You don't remember me, but my mother brought me to your preschool story hours. I loved those times. Because of you, I learned to love books. Thank you."
The words varied, but the message was always the same.
Bruce, Sherrill, Simone on Amsterdam Canal Boat My father was proud of the elegant tile work and mosaics that he left behind. "Ancient Egyptian tile work," he told me, "is as beautiful today as it was thousands of years ago. A man like me did it." I thought of him, sometimes, when visiting cathedrals, palaces, and museums. Craftsmen, architects, stained glass window artists, tapestry needlewomen, and painters and sculptors, even Walter Potter: famous and unknown, rich and poor, whether they thought of it that way or not, their work was a road to being remembered.
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Across the English Channel in the low countries, we found a vivid, colorful world, one in which people were happy to talk with us and help us. Even then, most of them seemed to be fluent in English. Amsterdam was where we first ate in an Indonesian restaurant and indulged in rijsttafel, the "rice table" meal that we came to love. The bowls of rice with a dozen or more appetizer-size dishes of seafood, meats, vegetables, nuts and fruits, and more overwhelmed us at first, but how could we resist the tantalizing rainbow of sweet and spicy, salty and sour flavors?
* * *
Across the English Channel in the low countries, we found a vivid, colorful world, one in which people were happy to talk with us and help us. Even then, most of them seemed to be fluent in English. Amsterdam was where we first ate in an Indonesian restaurant and indulged in rijsttafel, the "rice table" meal that we came to love. The bowls of rice with a dozen or more appetizer-size dishes of seafood, meats, vegetables, nuts and fruits, and more overwhelmed us at first, but how could we resist the tantalizing rainbow of sweet and spicy, salty and sour flavors?
Simone & Bruce at Bruges The countries that colonized the world have a lot to answer for, but one benefit of cultures mixing was a blending of cuisines. The British brought Indian dishes back with them, just as the Dutch returned with Indonesian. When we were in Syria, we discovered that the food there had been deliciously influenced by French cuisine. Today, with world travel so easy, many people grow up familiar with dishes from across the planet, but when we traveled then we often encountered unfamiliar foods, sometimes with ingredients we'd never tasted or seen. Ever curious, we never refused a dish unless part of it tried to crawl off the plate.
Sherrill loved boats of all kinds, so when we could we explored Amsterdam, Bruges, and other cities on their canals, passing narrow old houses (including one the width of a single window) with their steeply peaked roofs. One of those gaunt Amsterdam houses was where Anne Frank and her family hid during the Nazi occupation. We read about such terrible times, but nothing brings them to life as vividly as being in the place where they happened. Standing in those small, cramped spaces, we wondered why the family didn't lose their sanity and why it took as long as it did for them to be discovered. Anne Frank's diary ensured that what she and her family suffered would not be forgotten.
Sherrill loved boats of all kinds, so when we could we explored Amsterdam, Bruges, and other cities on their canals, passing narrow old houses (including one the width of a single window) with their steeply peaked roofs. One of those gaunt Amsterdam houses was where Anne Frank and her family hid during the Nazi occupation. We read about such terrible times, but nothing brings them to life as vividly as being in the place where they happened. Standing in those small, cramped spaces, we wondered why the family didn't lose their sanity and why it took as long as it did for them to be discovered. Anne Frank's diary ensured that what she and her family suffered would not be forgotten.
Simone in Ghent One of the pleasures of traveling in much of Europe was the trains, from the high-speed distance trains to the slower local ones. Along with the buses, they made it easy for us to get around between cities and towns and even villages. Sherrill also appreciated that she'd remember the scenery instead of the road ahead. The transportation systems in the cities were easy to use, as well, and the train stations were usually in the city center, so we could walk many places. Whether we wanted to visit the Rijksmuseum or Van Gogh Museum in Amsterdam or a history museum in Ghent or explore Brussels, it all was possible without a car.
Traveling, I think, taught us to appreciate the moment, maybe because we knew that we'd be moving on. Maybe, without realizing it, sometimes we were happy and sad at the same time. We could appreciate simultaneously the beauty of Orozco's work and the horror it represented or see the beauty of ruined abbeys and Greek temples and at the same time the fact that the worlds they were from were long gone. Later, we were to see on television and in newspapers the destruction and loss of places we'd learned to love, such as Syria and parts of Iran and Italy and Southeast Asia, whether because of human beings or natural causes. We didn't dwell on the sadness, but increasingly became aware of it.
To be continued....
Traveling, I think, taught us to appreciate the moment, maybe because we knew that we'd be moving on. Maybe, without realizing it, sometimes we were happy and sad at the same time. We could appreciate simultaneously the beauty of Orozco's work and the horror it represented or see the beauty of ruined abbeys and Greek temples and at the same time the fact that the worlds they were from were long gone. Later, we were to see on television and in newspapers the destruction and loss of places we'd learned to love, such as Syria and parts of Iran and Italy and Southeast Asia, whether because of human beings or natural causes. We didn't dwell on the sadness, but increasingly became aware of it.
To be continued....
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